The Boy That Hates Christmas
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: "Hey, Sam... Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?"


_First appeared in _Route 666 #4_ (2011), from Ashton Press_

**The Boy That Hates Christmas**  
K Hanna Korossy

_"Hey, Sam... Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?" - Dean, "A Very Supernatural Christmas"_

"Dean! Dean, wake up, Santa was here!" Sammy tugged at his brother's arm with more excitement than impatience.

Dean groaned, hand groping out from the covers probably to push him away…but then he seemed to hear what Sammy was saying. He opened his eyes and grinned. "He was, huh?"

"Yeah! Come look!"

Dean let himself be towed out of bed, which was good because Sammy was ready to burst from joy. He pulled and shoved his brother until Dean was standing in front of the amazing display in the corner of their tiny living room.

"Isn't it 'some?" He couldn't quite get Dean's favorite word, but it was close enough if his brother's smile was any sign.

But it _was_ awesome. The tree was small, but it reminded Sammy of Charlie Brown's tiny tree, which was _perfect. _It had a ribbon of shiny paper rings around it and a few ornaments that looked a lot like pictures of Daddy's car. And under it were _presents, _wrapped up in colorful comics. A whole _three _of them.

Dean ruffled his hair. "Sure is, squirt. Let's see what Santa brought you."

Sammy eagerly crouched down and reached for the first one.

It was a book, a serious big-boy chapter book, but he was five years old now and had been practicing with Dean, and could read the cover: _Ralph S. Mouse_. There was a picture of a mouse on a motorcycle on it. It looked like it had been a library book, the cover wrapped in clear paper and a rough spot on the back like where the card pocket used to be, but it wasn't torn or anything, and he could _keep _it. Giggling with excitement, Sammy held it up to Dean.

"Very cool. Now you've got something to read in the back seat."

Sammy nodded and set it carefully aside, reaching for the next present. This one was also for him, and he tore it open to find a little bag of green plastic soldiers. "Dean, look!" he squealed, showing his brother.

Dean inspected that, too, nodding approvingly. "I had soldiers like that when I was a kid, Sammy. We can fight with them, practice some battle tactics."

Sammy wasn't sure what "battle tactics" were, but they sounded fun. He nodded eagerly, and looked at the third present. It was also for him. His face fell.

An elbow nudged his side. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"Santa didn't bring you anything," Sammy whispered, disheartened. How could Santa forget Dean? He was the best big brother, and he deserved lots and lots of presents.

"Yeah he did," Dean insisted. "I got my stuff before."

Sammy eyed him doubtfully; Santa had made two trips? "You did?"

"Yup. Got some socks and underwear and shoes. Wanna see?"

Sammy wrinkled his nose. Those didn't sound like very good presents. "No, that's okay." Dean looked relieved; maybe he didn't think they were such good presents, either. Sammy looked at the last gift under the tree and made up his mind. He grabbed it and held it out to Dean. "You should have this one."

Dean blinked. "Dude, that's your present. Santa brought it for you."

Sammy shook his head. "I want you to have it," he said stubbornly.

Dean looked torn a long moment. "But it's what you—" He bit his lip, then sighed. "Okay, but whatever it is, we're gonna share it, okay?"

Sammy's smile returned. "Okay, Dean!"

Dean pulled the paper off more carefully than Sam usually did, and smiled at what he found inside. "Hey, look. It's that box of a hundred crayons you've been looking at in the store."

Sam's eyes opened wide. It was, shiny and new, the box he'd stared at longingly every time they went by the store on the way to school, and he hardly _ever _got new things. But…but he'd said Dean could have it, and he meant it. He tucked in his chin and nodded bravely. "You can draw good with it, Dean."

"Dude, we're gonna share, remember? We're both gonna draw with it, lots of pictures for Dad, okay?"

Excitement and joy bubbled up in him, almost too much to contain. "Okay, Dean!"

His brother grinned back. "Okay, Sammy."

He missed Daddy, wishing he were there to share this with them. Sammy couldn't wait to show him his gifts. But still, it was the best Christmas _ever_.

00000

It was the worst Christmas _ever._

He'd been aware of Dean getting up early, mostly because it was such a rare occurrence. Sam had listened, half-asleep, as Dean had moved around the room for a while, then finally crawled back into bed. Soon he was snoring again, inches from Sam's ear.

Sam sighed and rolled over, knowing what he'd see before he even looked.

They'd kinda given up on the tree thing after the sickly branch Dean dragged home two years before had turned out to be full of weevils, which had been fun. Dad made him stick to pine air fresheners now, and the air was redolent with the chemical smell of them. There was a single strand of Christmas lights Dean had scrounged from God knew where hanging over the window, and under it was a small pile of presents, most of them nicely wrapped in paper and bows and two swathed in newspaper. Wasn't hard to tell which ones Dean had swiped. Sam just fervently hoped his brother was getting better at figuring out genders and there wouldn't be a Barbie doll or a training bra waiting for him this year.

"You just gonna stare at them all day, or you gonna see what Santa brought you?" a drowsy voice asked from beneath the pillow beside Sam.

"Yeah, right. Like you or Dad wouldn't shoot Santa if he tried coming in here."

Dean snorted. "Dude, a fat guy in a red suit breaks into your house, what would you do?"

Sam sighed and climbed wearily out of bed. Better get it over with and move on to the fast-food feast Dean no doubt also had planned.

Dean got up eagerly after him, and Sam did smile a little at that. Didn't matter that Dean didn't get any gifts_, _or that he often had to use his own money to get Sam the gifts he didn't steal, or that Dad hadn't bothered showing up for the holiday _again_. His brother still loved the holiday.

Sam settled on the floor by the gifts and felt a small well of excitement despite himself. Presents were still presents, and they didn't get a lot. He picked up the first shiny wrapped gift and started in, turning so Dean could see it, too. He knew the contents were as much a surprise for his brother as for Sam.

A cheese grater. Sam stared at it a moment before breaking out in a laugh, and Dean joined him, although he did look kinda annoyed. Sam hoped for his sake the next gift would be better.

It was, kinda. It was a nice calculator, and while not exactly fun, it would be a lot better for trig than the old solar-powered one they'd picked up at a thrift shop that needed bright midday sun to work. Sam smiled his thanks, saw Dean's fond shake of the head, and moved on.

The shirt wouldn't fit him, but it was still packaged and could be returned for one that did. It would be nice to get a new shirt, anyway. And the basketball was cool, even if they wouldn't be able to take it with them when they moved. Definitely not the worst assortment of gifts. Sam put them aside and moved on to Dean's two personal efforts.

The belt had clearly been homemade; Dean had had leathercraft in shop…two schools back, Sam remembered, and he grinned his thanks. The knife made his smile fade some, but Dean had painstakingly carved Sam's initials into it, and that was nice of him. Sam thanked him, then got up and dug out his own gift from his bag.

It was also wrapped in newspaper and not very big, but Dean lit up when he saw it. Going on seventeen and he was still a big kid when it came to presents, and still always surprised when Sam got him something. Sam smiled wryly as he watched his brother's enthusiastic unwrapping.

Dean froze when he saw the gift, reading silently before looking up at Sam with wide eyes. "Where'd you find these, Sam?"

Sam shrugged awkwardly. "Some of my friends had some albums. No big deal." He wouldn't be telling Dean that it took three schools and asking a lot of classmates, some of who'd just stared suspiciously at him, before he'd found a few who'd had both the right records and were willing to let him tape some of the songs off them. But in the end, the three mix tapes had some of Dean's favorite pieces on them, including a few rare ones, and it had been worth the trouble. Especially now, seeing Dean swallow and his eyes become reverent and grateful.

"Dude, that…" Dean cleared his throat. "That's awesome. Thanks."

"Yeah," Sam said softly. "Don't mention it." He folded his arms around his legs and rocked back, looking over his small collection of gifts.

Tiffany was going to Vail with her family for Christmas to ski. Arnie was on his way to Florida to see his grandmother. Julie and Tim and Andy were staying home but had gorgeous trees and a pile of gifts and a big Christmas dinner planned. Their houses smelled of real pine and fresh-baked cookies, and you never saw a roach or a rat scurrying across the floor.

Even better, their whole family came together for the holiday, parents and grandparents and cousins. No one was away on business, and no one worried that their loved ones might be in danger or hurt somewhere. There were no lines of protection around their house, but they didn't lie in fear in bed at night.

Dean didn't get it. He thought Sam wanted gifts and nice clothes and home-cooked food and, yeah, okay, some part of him did. But normal was not being afraid and having your family together and having a home, and that was what Sam really yearned for. And something Dean would never be able to give, no matter how much he saved up or worked hard.

"Good Christmas, huh?" Dean was asking, grinning at Sam as he started picking up the torn wrapping paper. "You ready for Boston Market now?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam dutifully repeated as he piled his gifts under one of the pungent pine tree cutouts. "Good Christmas."

00000

"Hey, lover." Warm, slender arms slid around his waist from behind, curves pressing teasingly against his back. "What're you doing out here?"

Sam slid his hand out of his jacket, where it had been clenched around his cell phone, and reached back instead to wrap his arm around Jess, his hand flat on her back. It was an awkward position, but he loved feeling her behind him, her small chin propped on his shoulder. "Just thinkin'," he said with a smile, and raised his glass of wine to take a sip.

"You gonna call him?"

"Call who?" Sam said innocently, knowing it was a stupid stall. She knew him too well.

Jess didn't even bother calling him on it, just slid around the side of his body to press up under his arm. It fit perfectly around her shoulders, like she'd been made for him. "It's Christmas, Sam. You should call him."

Sam sighed, tugging her close and breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "I know."

He knew. He just didn't want to do it.

Jess had invited him to have Christmas with her family the year before, too. They'd just met, and it was one of three invitations Sam received from friends for the holidays. He'd refused them all, though, too awkward to force his way into some other family's holiday.

This year, though, Jess wasn't just one friend of many. They'd been dating since fall, and Sam was already considering asking her to move in after the spring semester. It was serious_ like_, starting maybe to verge on _love_, and Sam had begun to picture a future with a home and a job and a blonde, gorgeous wife.

And it scared him as much as it enticed him.

Once upon a time, he would have sought his older brother's advice. It was Dean he'd gone to, to find out how to ask a girl out on a date, how to kiss, and, one embarrassing time they never talked about again, how exactly sex worked. Dean had always been his chief advisor and confidante.

That was before Sam had realized how much his family had been manipulating him. How Dean would recommend he not get involved with a girl because, it turned out, they were moving in a week. Or how so many of the "games" he'd played with Sam and gifts he'd gotten him had really been training in disguise. How he'd so often been Dad's mouthpiece, repackaging their dad's orders in a way Sam would want to obey, and trying to keep Sam pacified and distracted so he wouldn't see how trapped he was and rebel. Even Christmases had been a joke, Dean pretending presents were from Dad when Dad had totally forgotten, and that what they had was so amazing when…

"Baby," Jess murmured, reaching up to kiss away a tear he hadn't even realized he'd shed.

Sam shook himself free of the memories and melancholy, setting his wine down so he could wrap both arms around her. "I'm okay. Just…remembering."

"You should call him," she repeated softly, pressing her cheek right above his heart. It was one of his favorite positions, allowing him to hold her close and safe.

"Maybe tomorrow," Sam said quietly, kissing her hair. He could feel the edges of his phone as it was pressed between their bodies.

He knew it would stay in his pocket, untouched, all week. And didn't even know if it was relief, anger, or grief he felt at knowing no one would be calling him, either.

00000

_ "Why do you wanna have Christmas so bad? I don't get it. You haven't talked about Christmas in years."_

_ "Well, yeah. This is my last year."_

He replayed that conversation many times in his head over the following day. Not just the words, but the way Dean had looked at him, that mix of embarrassed hopefulness and wistful regret, as honest as Sam ever saw him. It wasn't one more manipulative "dying wish"; this was Dean just wanting to spend one last holiday with his little brother before giving his life for him. How could he say no to that?

_"I can't…just sit around…drinking eggnog pretending everything's okay…when I know next Christmas you'll be dead."_ He had because he didn't think he _could _do it.

The memory wouldn't die, though. Nor all the others: Christmases Dean had tried to make good for him even when they had so little, holidays when Sam had only been able to see what they were missing, but now, with adult eyes, realized how much Dean had given him, how hard he'd tried to make Sam happy and keep him innocent, how disappointed he himself had also been in their dilapidated holiday, what a heavy burden he'd borne. Sam had had small gifts for Dean each year, tried to help in his own way, but it had mostly been Dean organizing a special day for him, year after year. And only asking for one now in return.

Sam had often sucked at being a brother, but…maybe he could be a little brother who was now big.

He had to do this for Dean. Sam owed him a good Christmas and so much more. And as for his own fear and grief…he'd deal with the emotional fallout later.

Besides, if he got Dean out of his deal like Sam fully intended, they'd be together next Christmas anyway. That would be the best repayment of all for everything Dean had done for him.

But for now, Sam had gone out on the pretense of looking up some pagan lore at the library and bought a few supplies, stashing them behind their room. Their hunt should be over quickly, and there'd still be time to hit the Biggerson's down the street for some dinner. He'd send Dean out for food and set up the room: instant Christmas.

Turned out the hunt wasn't so easy, however. Really, at this point, Sam should've known better. Instead of a quick kill, they'd been caught by the deceptively elderly couple. They were soon tied back-to-back, unwilling sacrifices, getting sliced up and having nails pulled. By the time they actually got loose and staked the freaky gods, Sam was aching all over, concussed, dripping blood, and his nail-less finger felt like it was on fire. Just…awesome. Dean didn't look a whole lot better, either. They'd torched the bloody scene in the pagans' cheery living room, dropped the one surviving victim at the local ER, then straggled back to the motel together, bloody and listing.

"Feel anything?"

Sam studied his mangled finger, tentatively poking the edge of it. "Nope."

Dean nodded and bent over the digit, cleaning it gently and then wrapping it in gauze. He pressed the tape into place, glancing up at Sam's face to gauge how it felt. The Lidocaine was doing its job, however, and the finger only mildly throbbed.

Sam nodded. "It's good."

Dean nodded back, moving on to the cuts on his arm, then the lump on the back of his head. By the time he was done, Sam's vision was swimming, and he didn't resist when Dean eased him down on the bed.

"Your tooth okay?"

Dean grimaced at the memory. "It's fine—they didn't have a chance to _Marathon Man_ it." He rolled up his sleeve and frowned at the cut on his own arm. "Too bad the doorbell didn't ring about ten minutes earlier."

"C'mere." Sam reached for him, and even though Dean gave him a doubtful look, he scooted closer. Sam didn't have to be vertical to clean the wound out and stick butterfly bandages across it, his bandaged hand only a little clumsy.

"You done, Nurse Nelly?"

"How 'bout your head?"

Dean reached up to massage his jaw. "Little sore, but I didn't get it on the back of the skull like you did."

Sam nodded and lay back, staring up at the ceiling. Then blinked, suddenly remembering what day it was and what he'd planned. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean was preoccupied with repacking the kit.

"I'm hungry."

Dean snorted a laugh. "Dude, it's Christmas, snowing, and freakin' late. Nothing's gonna be open."

Sam winced.

A hand suddenly patted his leg. "Look, there's a gas station down the street—I can pick up some jerky and chips, probably snag some beer. Although, you probably shouldn't have any, scrambled brains and all."

Sam rolled his eyes, which didn't feel too good. "You got knocked out, too."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean was already shrugging his jacket on. "Take it easy and I'll go pick up some supplies, okay?"

"Okay," Sam said quietly. Then, "Dean?" as his brother reached the door.

"What?" Dean turned back expectantly.

"I'm, uh, sorry. About Christmas."

Emotions tumbled across Dean's face, which had never been closed to Sam. Finally he smiled, rueful but real. "Dude, it's still Christmas and you and me. That's what matters, right?"

He was gone before Sam could answer.

Sam didn't even hesitate. The moment the front door clicked shut, he was up and heading for the back door.

The tree had taken about five minutes of digging in the small forest that abutted on the back of their motel, and just fit in the bucket Sam had procured. He dragged it in and tried it in three different spots before he was satisfied. It would be beautiful…in about twenty years or so, but it was just right for them now. Those stupid pine air fresheners made halfway decent ornaments, and Sam had gotten some lights. The banner went over the TV. He wasn't sure about the proportions of eggnog to Southern Comfort, but finally shrugged and dumped a bottle of each together, doling it out in plastic cups. He was rushing by the time he got to the gifts, expecting Dean to walk in at any moment. Still, he got them wrapped in newspaper and stashed under the couch in time.

The growl of the Impala approached and died, and Sam nervously straightened his shirt and waited.

Dean stepped inside, then slowed as he caught sight of the altered room. His gaze moved from the tree to the lights to the nog, then Sam.

"Hey, you get the beer?" Sam asked brightly.

Dean's eyes were full of wonder and pleased surprise. "What's all this?"

"What do you think it is? It's-it's Christmas." He threw Dean a nervous smile.

Dean tilted his head a little, mouth still curled in half-bewilderment. "What made you change your mind?" he asked softly.

_Comic-wrapped gifts, turkey sandwiches, hand-drawn Impala ornaments, a sparkly Barbie doll, "Santa was here, Dean!", drooping string of salvaged lights, "thank you, Sam, I love it," tiny wilted trees, homemade toys and store-bought food—_

_ —Dean's eyes shining with hurt. "Were your childhood memories that traumatic?" Bright with wounded pride and daring hope and secret tenderness and oh so very much love. _

Sam hesitated, then reached down and picked up a cup. "Here. Try the eggnog. Let me know if it needs some more kick."

They ended up sitting back and watching the game, drinking and admiring their gifts and talking about nothing, pretending at least for the night that there wasn't a dark shadow looming on the horizon.

Sam never did answer the question.

He knew Dean didn't need him to.

**The End**


End file.
